3-12 CHUTES AND LADDERS

“I can go for the oranges!” you declare, hopping out of the speeder.

“Very well,” Master Lasah responds. “I will follow those other two. Good luck.”

“You too, Master!”

Master Lasah pulls out of the parking slot, then accelerates out the exit in one smooth motion. Meanwhile, you turn toward the bank and start running.

The parking garage is attached to the bank via narrow passages that turn into bridges between the building, each one open to the Coruscant air. As you sprint across one such bridge, you feel the midday sun beating down upon your scalp, only barely attenuated by the clouds of endless smog. Looking ahead, you see the entrance to the bank. To the right, around the corner, and further down is the dumpster and the oranges. How exactly are you going to get there?

There are two paths you can take. The first path is to run into the bank and take a dive down the garbage chute. Disgusting, and not exactly ideal. The second is to run around the building. Unfortunately, this second way is not direct. While the dumpster is just around to the right, the only clear route you can see is a winding staircase off to your left. You would have to run down two flights of stairs, then make your way through the labyrinthian corridors of the residential complex below the bank. Only then would you be spat out next to your objective.

Looking back up, you grit your teeth in annoyance — the garbage service vehicle is in position now! That settles it. You need to go fast.

Your feet pound against the concrete flooring as you close on the bank’s entrance. With a wave of your hand, the doors slam open, causing both the teller and the receptionist to look up in alarm. Their distress is only further raised when they see a tiny masked intruder sprint through the doorway and it’s only the telekinetic hold you place on their hands that prevents them from immediately hitting their panic buttons.

Fortunately, you’re able to soon let go as your next move drives them to confusion. You reach out and yank the door to the garbage chute open. You then wrap your robe around you to avoid having it catch on something and grab the top of the open chute. Vaulting up, you are now oriented such that you will be going feet first instead of head first. And then, you let go.

You pull your arms inwards, crossing them across your chest — both to avoid touching the revolting surfaces around you, and to keep your robe folded tight around you. As the walls blur past, you have never been more happy to not have any hair, for it surely would have caught some of the refuse on the way down.

You smoothly stick the landing at the bottom of the chute. That is the real story, or shall be the true story you tell to your peers. You certainly did not have to stagger about afterwards, hoping for the pain in your posterior to go away sooner. Absolutely not!

You’d been hoping to land on some nice, soft oranges. As gross as they might be, they would have made for a cushioned landing. Unfortunately, as you’d hopped into the chute, you’d seen the last of the oranges, as well as the rest of the trash, go into the vehicle just about to leave. You now stand on the rusted metal at the bottom of the dumpster, looking up at the garbage vehicle slowly flying upward into the sky.

“Stop!” you cry, hoping for your voice to reach the drivers. You look upward, hoping to see one of them looking back down at you, and then you curse in further annoyance.

Damn droids! Every time! Those wretched, soulless abominations always ruin your day! You can’t even use telepathy to get them to stop, considering they don’t have the organic minds necessary for your communication.

You stumble forward, shedding your robes which are soaked almost all the way through with some unknown fluid. You are so very glad you had these on for the rest of you is still perfectly dry, though bruised from the bump— er, perfect landing!

You do, however, remember to rescue your datapad from the robes and tuck it into your belt. The rest can stay here, rubbish at it now is.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

You look up again, and thankfully the droid-operated vehicle is still there. It’s stuck waiting for traffic, its ever-patient operator simply staring out and looking for an opening. You’d better move fast before one opens.

You spy a ladder to the side, meant for maintenance access to what appears to be a large, decommissioned billboard. This will do.

You scramble up the ladder, hoisting yourself with lengthy pulls from your arms while kicking off with your feet. While you still aren’t as confident of your strength as you’d like, your training has more than prepared you for such trivial movement, even after your lengthy recovery from your warpfire injuries.

Halfway up the ladder and you come level to the garbage vehicle. It is tantalizingly close — a mere two meters away! — but you’re not reckless enough to throw yourself at it right now. If you miss, the consequences will be unavoidable. And so, you pull yourself upwards by another few rungs to get some height, then watch the traffic. No gaps yet; the busy industrial air lanes are still filled with high-speed vehicles. A boon for once.

You gather yourself, sinking into the Force and calculating your trajectory.

The wind blows, gusting hard up high amongst these towering structures.

You wait.

A gap in the traffic begins to open, but you continue to wait.

The droid spies the gap and makes ready to move.

And you leap.

You catch onto the back of the vehicle with both hands just as it begins to move. A handle juts out of the vehicle, meant for humanoid workers to cling onto during transportation, yet another favor for you. It is a bit awkward to hold onto, what with the handles being meant for much taller beings than you, but this will do. Now, you just have to wait for the next stop, and then you will feel safe enough to go and clobber that droid before it can bury the oranges in more garbage.

≡][≡ ⬦⬦⬦ ≡][≡

You don’t end up having to damage the droid to get what you want. Instead, you simply clambered around the vehicle at the next location and told it there was an emergency and that it needed to stop. You then contacted CorSec, telling them where you were and what you needed. They then came in and gathered both you and the oranges before allowing the droid to continue its task.

They were also kind enough to give you a comlink when you asked, allowing you to contact Master Lasah. You now stand just outside the CorSec outpost, preparing to vox her. It takes but a moment for her to answer.

“Master Lasah?”

“Ah, Xena. I trust you have completed your task?”

“Yes, Master. CorSec now has the oranges in custody.”

“Wonderful. Any injuries? Anything I should be concerned about?”

“No, Master. I only lost my robes. I ditched them after sliding down that garbage chute to save time.”

“A creative solution. No matter about the robes, so long as you are safe. As for me, everything has gone rather swimmingly, as Alba may put it. I have followed our two new friends without drawing any attention — rather easy when I can keep track of them from several blocks away. Can you guess where they have gone?”

You think for a second. She wouldn’t be asking you to guess if it weren’t a place you don’t know of, and the fact that she sounds rather amused tells you it is a place you might have visited recently.

“Is it… the intersection? One of the four locations?”

“Yes, though it was actually two of the locations! They dropped off a crate at our good friend Neen’s place, then moved the rest to one of the warehouses in the industrial block. It looks as though we should pay the good doctor a visit rather soon.”

“That’s…” you trail off. You’re not really sure what to think about all that. It is a rather exciting development, but you’d hoped Doctor Neen wasn’t in on this; whatever this is. He seemed nice — actually caring toward his patients’ wellbeing. Then again, he did cut some sort of deal with this mysterious cartel; not exactly something an upstanding citizen would generally do.

“Has CorSec found anything regarding the oranges, Xena?” Master Lasah asks.

You shake your head before remembering she can’t see you at the moment, then respond, “No, Master. I don’t think they’ve started yet. They weren’t really that happy to be fishing through the piles of rubbish for it, so I think they’re putting it off until a forensic team can get here.”

“I see. Well then, see if you can get one of them to shuttle you over here. Just the incentive of an excuse for not having to deal with all that may be enough.”

“Yes, Master. See you soon.”